


Haunted

by MayaAodhan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sharing a Bed, homophobia related violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4942396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaAodhan/pseuds/MayaAodhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Dean pretend to be married so they can rent an apartment that, according to Sam, is haunted. Okay, so an alternative plan could have been considered, but well, heck, Dean had the IDs. We don't look too closely at why Dean has those...</p>
<p>What follows is what would happen if Castiel and Dean were actually able to have THOSE conversations. Y'know, the ones that an impending apocalypse always seems to get in the way of?</p>
<p>Oh. And there is a ghost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You have to do it,” Sam said flatly.

“Forget it.” Dean took a long draw on his beer, leaning back in his chair. 

“Got a better solution?” Sam looked up from the massive book he was hunched over. 

“Yes.” Dean paused. He frowned. “Damn it.” 

Sam closed the book sharply. “It will only be for a couple of days.” 

“Says you.” Dean scowled. “You aren’t the one stuck pretend-renting out an apartment in a swanky unit block.” 

“You like hauntings. It’s almost like a holiday.” 

“It’s not enough like a holiday,” Dean said bitterly. 

“Look, I would be there, but you know I have to go. If it’s worse than you think, call Garth. He said he was floating around Arizona for the next little while.” 

“If you wish assistance, I can help.” Castiel’s voice interrupted whatever Dean was going to reply from the doorway. The fallen angel had moved into the bunker a couple of weeks ago.

Sam considered. “Not a bad idea. This way you have back up. Cas can be your backup. And most places prefer renting to couples anyway.” 

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. What?” 

“That makes a certain kind of sense.” Castiel agreed. “Perhaps it will done with more quickly with my presence.”

Dean groaned and thudded his forehead on his forearm. “I don’t really have much of a choice, do I?”

Sam patted him on the shoulder. “Nope.” 

“I hate you.” 

“If this is a problem, I can withdraw my offer of help,” Castiel said hesitantly. 

Dean just waved a hand. “Sammy’s right. It will probably help sell it.” He plastered a beaming smile on his face, tilted his head and fluttered his eyelashes. “Ready to couple up, sweetheart?” 

Castiel flinched. “What’re you doing, Dean? You look like you are in pain.” 

Dean sighed. “My game needs work.”

“What game?” Castiel was bewildered. 

“Don’t worry, buddy.” Dean gripped his shoulder. “Just follow my lead when it comes time.” 

 

Castiel fidgeted beside him on the front bench seat of the Impala. He tugged on the hem of the sweater Dean had pressed him to wear, over a pair of charcoal hued pants. He shifted. 

“What’s wrong, Cas?” Dean didn’t take his eyes off the road. 

“Are you sure this outfit was necessary, Dean?” Castiel tucked a forefinger into the tidy knot in his tie, and pulled at it. 

“You look good.” Dean paused, cleared his throat. “Appropriate, I mean. In that old trench coat they might think you were a destitute writer or something.” 

“If by ‘destitute’, you mean ‘without belongings’, then that would be a correct summation of my situation,” Castiel said flatly, tracing the phrases in the air with his ‘quote’ fingers. “So you propose to present a lie to the owners of this residence?” 

“Lying is what we do,” Dean growled roughly. “If we don’t get into this apartment, more people are gonna die. Don’t you think dressing the part to get an ‘in’ is better than telling the truth that we are a pair of drifters with barely the scratch to put together rent for a week?”

Castiel sat silently, his brows drawn together, as he studied his hands. His reply when it came was quiet. “Very well.” 

Dean nodded, satisfied. “Alright, we need a story.”

Castiel stilled. “Story? More untruths?” 

“Focus, Cas.” Dean’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Saving lives, remember?” 

Castiel’s breath hissed out impatiently. “What is our story?”

“I put together the ID’s last night. In the glove box.” 

 

Castiel leaned forward and tugged the folder out. He pulled out a battered wallet and flipped it open. He studied his unsmiling photograph on the driver’s licence with narrowed eyes, and glanced at the details. He was Charles Wayne. Born the eighth of August, 1975. Making him forty. He drew his thumb over his clean-shaven jaw. Yes. That would be about right. Jimmy had been in his mid-thirties when he had … Castiel hesitated in the thought. Then glanced at the rest of the items. Couple of credit cards, both with the name C Wayne. About forty dollars in cash. He tucked the wallet into his pants pocket.

Out of curiosity, he pulled out the ID’s that would be Dean’s. Bryce Wayne. The name tugged at his memory. 

“Bryce …” He muttered, and couldn’t resist the smallest smile from curving his lips. “Bruce Wayne. Dean, that’s a little ridiculous, even for you.” 

“Hey.” Dean shrugged, his lips curved up at the corner in a mischievous grin. “Gotta have some fun, right? Just call me Batman.” 

Castiel frowned again. “So are we pretending to be …” his voice trailed off. 

“Married, yeah. Figured it was easiest.” Dean shrugged nonchalantly. “We had the credit cards already. Just made the ID’s to go with them.” 

Castiel put the ID’s back, and held onto the folder with hands were suddenly a little unsteady. “I see. That makes sense.” 

“There are a couple rings in there.” Dean jerked his chin at the folder. “Get them out. Might as well get used to wearing them now.” 

Castiel tipped the two matching dual toned rings into his palm and studied them. “When did you get the time to go shopping for these?” 

“Didn’t take long.” Dean shrugged again. “Walked into the junk jewellery store, picked up a couple in the right size.” 

“How do you know my size?” 

He watched the tip of Dean’s ears go a little red. “I pay attention.” 

Castiel let that one go. He picked up one of the rings and slid it on to the appropriate finger. It was a little big. He tried on the other, and it fit. He held the first across to Dean. Taking his hand off the wheel, Dean took the ring and slid it on. He clenched his hand into a fist once, before settling it back on the wheel. It glinted in the meagre autumn sunshine coming through the window. 

Castiel studied his ring against the newly roughened skin of his vessel’s hands. He turned them over to stare at his palms.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked finally, eyes still on the road. 

“I was contemplating Jimmy’s hands.” 

“You mean your hands.” 

“No.” Castiel shook his head. “I was thinking of the hands Jimmy had before I took him as my vessel.”

He could see the look of confusion on Dean’s face as he glanced across at him. He explained.

“Jimmy had smooth hands. He led a good, quiet life. He had a tiny scar right there.” Castiel pointed at the heel of his right palm. “When he was a child he cut himself on broken glass. He never fell off his bike. Or out of a tree. His life was books, and listening to music and holding his child. His hands were smooth.” 

Dean remained silent, but Castiel could see his jaw clenching. 

“I have damaged his hands. I have callouses where I wielded my angel blade. I have burn scars. Scrapes and callouses on the knuckles. I have hurt his hands. Made them something they shouldn’t have been.” He curled those hands into fists. “I didn’t notice it until I put on the ring.” 

They drove in silence for a long time. Castiel stared at the road blurring past, the white lines hypnotic.

Dean was the first to break it. “They remind you.” 

Castiel turned his head to study Dean’s profile. Once again, he wasn’t looking at Castiel, just staring at the road. Castiel slid his glance over the rigid jaw, the straight bridge of his nose, the untidy strands of the light brown hair. “Remind you of what?” 

“Your hands remind you of the path you took. Remind you where you fucked up and where you went right. Jimmy didn’t have to make the decisions you did. Didn’t have to fight for his life. Didn’t have to fight for my life. Or Sammy’s. But _you_ did. You could have stayed out of it. Separate. And your hands would still be smooth. But you have a reminder right there that what you did.”

“Oh.” Castiel released his hands from their clenched state. “I didn’t think of that.”

Green eyes clashed with his, and his breath was suddenly stolen from his lungs at the warmth there. He didn’t need the breath. When he was an angel, he didn’t need his breath, but now the reaction intrigued him. Made him want to explore it. But it was fleeting. It left him tingling a little as Dean returned his gaze to the road. 

The road hummed under their tyres.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Baby’s doors creaked as Dean stepped out, Castiel on the other side. Dean opened the back door, pulled out a coat. He tossed it onto the roof of the car as he rolled down and buttoned the cuffs of the shirt he wore when posing as FBI. He tugged his tie square and shrugged into the coat. He came around the car, stood in front of Cas. He studied him critically. 

Without thinking, his hand brushed against Castiel’s neck as he straightened Castiel’s tie. Castiel’s face remained impassive. 

“Am I acceptable?” Castiel asked drily after Dean’s perusal. 

“They are going to be jealous as hell that I got myself such a handsome husband.” Dean curved his lips in that familiar grin, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Come on. Let’s get our first apartment, dear.” 

Castiel made a soft sound in his throat. 

He followed Dean across the street toward the realtor’s office. 

 

“It’s light and airy.” The realtor droned. “The previous owners recently painted. It comes fully furnished. Pets aren’t allowed. You don’t have pets, do you?” 

“Nope.” Dean shook his head, studying the room for exits. For signs of haunting. For, hell, anything. It looked incredibly ..boring. He was aware of Castiel still standing silently beside him, listening intently to the real estate agent’s spiel. “Can’t even keep a plant alive. No way am I going to look after something completely dependent on my for its well being.” 

The woman laughed. 

Dean shared a glance with Castiel. 

“So, how long have you two been hitched?” The woman tugged open the curtains to reveal a tiny backyard with a charming little table and chair set on an equally minute tiled patio. The light outside was fading as afternoon slipped toward evening.

“Only a year.” Castiel supplied helpfully when Dean hesitated. 

“Almost newlyweds.” The woman beamed. “As you can see there is a nice little backyard space, with a minimal number of plants to kill.” She eyed them both. “Keeping them alive is in the contract though.” 

“Of course.” Dean shifted uneasily, and stiffened when he felt a warm hand take his. He glanced down, then aside at Castiel. But Castiel was staring steadfastly forward. 

“Come look at the kitchen. It’s small, but well equipped.” 

Castiel tugged Dean forward. Dean followed, his eyes dropping to their linked hands again. 

“This looks very pleasant, Bryce,” Castiel said quietly. “What do you think?” 

Dean looked at the woman. “Can you give us a moment?” 

She nodded and wandered back to the living room. 

Castiel dropped his voice. “I don’t feel anything out of the ordinary here.” 

Dean muttered in reply. “You mean aside from you holding my hand?” He lifted their linked fingers.

“Couples hold hands, Bryce.” Castiel said, a little annoyance creeping in. “I was trying to help.” 

Dean raised his hand to his brow and rubbed it. His pretend wedding ring glinted in the overhead light. “Yeah. I know. It’s fine.” 

“But no. Aside from hand holding, I just don’t sense a spirit in the house.” 

“Maybe Sammy was wrong?” Dean suggested hesitantly. 

“Perhaps.” Castiel fidgeted with his tie again.

“But maybe we should just … “ Dean waved a vague hand. “Stay a couple nights and find out. Might be more than a simple haunting. Better make sure this isn’t something the locals can’t handle.” 

“If that is what you wish to do.” 

“I would prefer to be in the bunker,” Dean groused. “But I suppose this place is better than the usual dumps we stay in.” 

“Well then, we have paperwork to fill out.” 

 

“Your references check out. So congratulations, Mr Wayne and Mr Wayne.” The realtor slid a folder containing copies of the contract and a set of keys. “Welcome to your new home.” She beamed at them. “I will get out of your hair.” 

She left them standing in the middle of their living room, heading out into the dark. 

Their living room. 

Theirs. 

Dean yanked at the knot of his tie and tossed it over the back of the pale brown suede couch. He yanked off the coat and hung it over the back of the chair. 

“Pizza and a movie?” 

Castiel blinked at him owlishly. “I’m sorry?” 

“I just drove twelve hours to get here, Cas. I want some downtime.” 

“Oh. Of course. Then yes. That sounds fine.” 

“I will get the gear from the car.” 

Castiel inclined his head. “I shall order the pizza?”

“Sounds good. Pepperoni on mine.” 

“What should I get on mine?” 

Dean stilled. “What?” 

“On my pizza. What should I get? I don’t know what I like on pizza. I’m still getting used to the idea that food has flavour.” 

Dean’s expression was unreadable for a few moments. “Order yourself mushroom, peppers and ham.” 

“If you think that is best.” 

 

Dean returned with their bags a few minutes later. Castiel was speaking to someone on the other end. 

“Yes. That is everything. The address is Unit Four, 623 Grey Street East. Phone number is …” Castiel glanced up at Dean urgently. Took out his phone, rapidly typed in a number and held it up for Castiel to see. Castiel recited it, and was visibly relieved when he hung up. “They said it would be thirty minutes.” 

“Good. Enough time for a shower.” Dean hefted up the bags again. “I will put these in the bedroom. We aren’t staying long, but might as well settle in while we can. I’m going to grab a shower.”

“Very well.” 

Dean headed for the bathroom. 

 

Dean exited a few minutes later in sweatpants and an old white shirt. A towel was slung over his shoulders and he scrubbed at his damp hair with one end. He studied the place and frowned. Where was Cas?

“Hey. Cas?” 

“Out here.” The voice came from the tiny patio. 

Dean stepped out onto the tiles, his toes curling on the cold. Castiel was tipping a cup of water into a rather droopy looking pot plant. 

“Whatchya doin’?” Dean hung on to either end of the towel and watched the stooped figure. Watched the fallen angel touch a withering leaf with a gentle finger. 

“There is no reason to let these plants go thirsty.” Castiel straightened.

“We are only going to be here for a few days.” 

“We signed a contract, Dean.” Castiel frowned at him severely. 

Dean grinned. “You are somethin’ else, Cas.”

“I thought I was human now.” 

Dean laughed softly. “Oh, Cas. You are a whole lot better than a whole heap of humans I know. Not many of them would give a damn about a dying plant in a pot.” 

Castiel approached, his cup clutched in his hand. “That’s not entirely true. I have been responsible for many deaths.”

“So have I.” Dean’s smile faded. “I just meant…” He glanced away, shifting his weight awkwardly. 

“Your sentiment is pleasing to me.” Castiel reached out and curled his palm around Dean’s hand where it gripped the towel. “Thank you. It helps bear the weight of it a little easier.” 

“Sure.” Dean gripped Castiel’s hand in return. 

For a moment, their gaze held. Dean hesitated as though he would speak. 

Castiel waited. 

“You should…uh…have a shower. The water is good. Good pressure.” 

Castiel’s hand dropped. “Yes. That would be best. I put the beer from the cooler into the refrigerator.” He stepped back and brushed past Dean to get into the house. 

Dean leaned back on the table behind him and blew out the breath he had been holding. He stared at his bare toes, curiously vulnerable to his eyes. Castiel. Dear god. The guy was going to kill him.

It was getting harder and harder to hide his need for his angel. 

 

When Castiel emerged, hair damply tousled and in his own sweatpants and t-shirt, the pizzas were already steaming on the table. Castiel sat on the couch beside Dean, accepting the beer bottle with serious intent. 

“Thank you.” He studied the contents of the two boxes. “These look … full of calories.” 

“Yep. Busy hunter has to eat.” 

“What movie are we watching?” Castiel leaned forward and tugged two slices apart, the cheese resisting in glistening pale yellow strands. He made a sound of annoyance as it persisted.

Dean was watching him with a grin. “Uhh. Was thinking Die Hard.” 

“…We are going to watch someone die …hard?” 

“You are going to love it.” 

 

An hour later, Castiel burped. He flushed, covering his hand. “Pardon me.” 

“Good pizza, huh?” Dean sat back with a replete sigh as Bruce Willis walked over broken glass in bare feet. His toes curled in silent sympathy. 

Castiel washed down the pizza with another swig of beer. “It was good. Very good. I prefer the addition of the vegetable matter.”

“Heathen.” Dean grinned at him again. “But I figured it would be more up your alley. Gotta balance the bad with the good, right?” 

“Then wash it all down with alcohol,” Castiel observed drily. “Yes. I’m not sure it really balances.” 

“Works for me.” Dean winked at him. “I like a little bad with my good.” 

Castiel cleared his throat, brought his beer bottle up again, and turned back to the screen. His neck flushed a little red.

Dean settled in to watch the movie, satisfied. He had flustered his angel, just a little bit. 

 

The credits rolled. 

Castiel’s eyes were mere slits of sleepiness as Dean nudged him. “Hey, sleeping beauty. Maybe you should head to bed.”

“Is okay,” Castiel mumbled. “Only one bed. I can sleep here.” 

“We are adults, Cas.” Dean stood up and stretched, then reached down, holding out his hand toward Castiel. “We can share a damn bed. This couch is too damn small for you anyway.” 

“Okay.” Castiel didn’t resist as Dean kept holding his hand and tugged him toward the doorway of their bedroom. He only let go to press Castiel toward the bathroom, while he went back and tossed the leftover pizza in the fridge. When he headed back to the room, Castiel was tucked up in bed, on the far side, facing the wall. The only visible part was the spiked strands of his dark hair above the comforter. 

After using the bathroom for a few minutes, Dean headed to his side of the bed and stared down contemplatively. The bed suddenly seemed much…smaller. He laid the items for a ghost hunt on the bedside table. He glanced at the window. The salt line there was still solid. He let out a slow breath. Yep. This would be fine. Absolutely fine. 

He slid between the cool sheets. 

“G’night, Dean…” Castiel’s voice was a slurred murmur. 

“Night, Cas.” 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Dean swam back toward consciousness in the predawn hours if the digital numbers on the alarm clock beside the bed were anything to go by, pushing back the cobwebs of sleep. And was instantly gripped in a cold fist of terror. 

He was wrapped around Castiel. Not just … close by. His arm was over his torso, yanking him close. His face was pressed to the back of his neck, his senses full of the smell of Castiel - the shampoo he used, the soap, the unique smell of sleepy Castiel.And dear god, his hips. Oh hell. He tried to edge back slowly without waking Castiel. Maybe Cas hadn’t even noticed?

His teeth worried his lower lip as he slowly eased his hips, and his morning ..uhh… wood away, then he tried to retrieve his arm. 

This was met with a sleepy protest. 

“Don’t move.” Castiel murmured. 

“It’s me, Cas. Sorry.” 

“I know who you are, Dean.” Castiel shifted back against him.

Dean held himself stiff for a moment longer. Then figured…what the hell? He relaxed, sliding his arm back into position over Castiel. Though he kept his hips carefully angled away until certain bits of him got the message too. 

After a little while, he realised Castiel had fallen back to sleep. The rhythmic white noise of his breathing was deep and even and lulled Dean back to sleep. 

 

The sun slanted insipid light into the bedroom. Dean roused and realised this time he was alone in the bed. He knuckled his eyelids, wiping away gunk. He peered around the bedroom. Distantly he heard the sound of the front door closing, and he leapt up, fumbling for the pistol on his bedside table. He thumbed the safety, and crept on silent feet to the door. He slid down the hallway and came face to face with a startled Castiel. 

Dean lowered his gun and breathed a sigh of relief. “Sorry, man. When you weren’t here… then the door….” He gestured with the gun. 

“I understand,” Castiel said coolly and held out a huge takeaway cup of coffee. “I wanted caffeine. We didn’t exactly get in supplies yesterday.” 

Dean safetied his weapon and set it aside on the kitchen bench as he took the cup with a grateful, uncertain smile. Castiel headed for the patio. With the briefest hesitation, Dean followed. 

Castiel wore yesterday’s pants and a button down shirt that was still rumpled from his bag. He sat down on one of the wire chairs and tilted his head up to the sun. 

Dean put the cardboard cup on the table and sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees. “So Cas, I’m sorry about last night.” 

“Sorry about what?” Castiel didn’t look at him. 

“Using you like a body pillow,” Dean said, fidgeting as a blush coloured his cheek. 

“By your words you are embarrassed by embracing me? Should I also be embarrassed?”

“Hell, I don’t know.” Dean thrust his hands through the short strands of his hair and stared at the ground. “Maybe you should be angry?” 

“No. I slept last night without nightmares. Your nearness brought me peace. I am neither embarrassed nor angered by that.” 

Dean straightened, concern etched on his features. “You are having nightmares? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“What was I going to say? That when I sleep, my mind brings my deeds to the light. That I relive again and again that which I most regret?” Castiel sipped of his coffee. “And that which I am afraid I will not succeed in.”

“I didn’t think you knew how to be afraid.” The faintest smile etched Dean’s features.

“I was afraid I would lose against Raphael. I was afraid I would succumb to Naomi’s head games.” Castiel looked over at Dean, his expression impassive. “With every passing hour my fear grew that I wouldn’t reach you in Hell.” 

“Damn it, Cas.” Dean tensed, closing his eyes. “Those are your nightmares?”

“I was afraid that when I was at war with Raphael, and I came to you to explain, to convince you, and when you asked me, begged me, to stand down, that I would have to kill you. That I would have to do it.” 

“Stop,” Dean begged. “Please.” He stood up suddenly.

“I merely wished to explain. I have troubled you.” Castiel looked up at him in confusion. “I did not wish to make my troubles your own.” 

“Cas. Damn it.” Dean paced up and down the tiny courtyard. “Of course it _troubles_ me. You matter to me.” He drove his hand through his hair. “You matter.” 

“Are you saying you don’t have nightmares?” Castiel tilted his head quizzically. 

“Well yeah. Most nights.” Dean gestured helplessly.

“And you didn’t think to tell me about them?” An arch brow lifted.

“Why would I? I have had them …forever.” 

Castiel rose slowly, an oasis of calm in the tension. “Because I want to know. I’m your friend and I want to know.” He reached out and touched Dean’s shoulder, brushing the old scar on his shoulder. Dean stilled. Castiel’s voice gentled. “When you held me, my nightmares were quiet. I didn’t want that to end. If that caused you trouble, I am truly sorry.”

“It didn’t.” Dean reached out and clutched Castiel’s shirt. “I was just…” He winced. “I was aroused, alright?” 

Castiel brushed Dean’s shoulder again in a gentling caress. “So? It’s a physical reaction. The male body has them. I do not think less of you for it. I have it myself on occasion.”

Dean blew out a slow breath. 

“Drink your coffee now, Dean.” Castiel touched Dean lightly on his hands where they clenched his shirt. His fingers curled around Dean’s palms and he gently released the grip Dean had on his shirt. “We have to investigate the haunting today.” 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love some feedback? Is this okay?

Dean spent the morning at the library going through microfiche. After four hours of newspaper headlines blurring before his eyes, he gave up and called Sam.

“Heya Sammy.” 

 _“Dean. How’s the hunt?”_  

“Going nowhere fast. You sure its the real deal. Neither Cas or I felt a damn thing all night. Place was like a tomb.” 

“ _Hmm_.” 

“Previous owners died, right? All torn up. House trashed.” 

_“Yeah. That is what the news report said.”_

“Well, aside from a spanking new coat of paint, ain’t nothing much happening at the house.” 

_“I guess I have been wrong before. Give it one more night, then call it and come back home.”_

“Yeah.” Dean scrubbed his hand down his face. 

A brief hesitation from Sam. _“Are you and Cas getting along alright?”_

“Just fine, Sammy,” Dean snapped. “Seeya.” He fidgeted with the phone, and hit Cas’s number. He lifted the phone to his ear. 

 _“Yes?”_ Castiel’s voice was abrupt. 

“Found anything?” 

_“Speaking to our neighbours has been a variable experience, Dean. Some of them are quite pleasant, others are very rude.”_

“How’d it work out?” 

 _“Lunch first.”_  

“Huh?” Dean frowned in confusion. 

_“I’m hungry. I want lunch, and you have the car.”_

“Oh, hell. Yeah. Sorry, Cas. I will swing by and pick you up.” 

Cas hit disconnect, leaving Dean to smile and shake his head. _Still with the rusty people skills, Cas._

 

They sat down to a massive serving of burger and fries.

Dean took a large bite of his and dusted his hands of crumbs. “So spill,” he said around a muffled mouthful. 

Castiel plucked up a single fry and studied it closely before nibbling it precisely. “We have been invited to dinner.”

Dean choked. He chewed and swallowed rapidly, eyes watering. Castiel nudged his water glass closer. “What?” he managed after clearing his throat. 

“Dinner, Dean,” Castiel said patiently. “It is apparently what good neighbours do when new people come into the neighbourhood.”

“Jesus, Cas. You couldn’t think of a way out of it?” Dean scowled.

“I wasn’t aware that I was supposed to. I thought you could interrogate our hosts and we don’t have to spend money on food this evening.” Castiel picked up his burger in long, elegant fingers and took a precise bite. 

“I don’t…. Cas, you shouldn’t…” Dean sighed. “Yeah, alright. It was a good idea.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“No need to get smug,” Dean grumbled. 

Castiel’s lips curved just faintly. 

 

“Is this suitable?” Castiel came out of the bedroom wearing his grey pants, and a close fitting black button down shirt with with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a red tie - Dean’s red tie - hung askew around his neck. 

Dean swallowed down the sudden tightness in his throat and ignored the flush that wanted to creep over his face. “Yes.” He moved toward Cas, and reached out to straighten the tie. “It looks good on you.” 

“You look very nice too, Dean.” 

Castiel reached up, and his thumb swiped over Dean’s cheek. Dean felt his eyes widen in surprise, and his mouth hissed out a breath. “You had some shave cream.” 

“Thanks,” Dean muttered. He had to get out of this apartment now before he was tempted into hauling Cas toward him and kissing him senseless.

“Are you quite alright, Dean? You look a little flushed.” Castiel picked up the bottle of wine they had picked up and studied Dean thoughtfully. 

“Just fine, Cas. Let’s go.” Dean strode for the door. 

 

“I’m Judith, and this is my husband, Roy.” Judith introduced herself and waved vaguely in the direction of the man currently setting the table for six. Another couple sat waiting, staring at Dean and Cas with no small amount of curiosity. “And this is Sarah and Chris from Apartment Eight.” 

“I’m Bryce.” Dean waved at the room, and gestured at Castiel. “And this is my husband, Charlie.” 

Castiel handed over the wine. “I don’t know much about wine, Judith, but the man at the liquor store assured me it would be suitable.” 

“How kind!” Judith trilled and putting her hand on Dean’s shoulder, she pushed him toward the dining room. “Do have a seat.” She headed to the kitchen.

Roy leaned over and shook both their hands firmly. “Good evening.” He was reserved as he studied the new arrivals. 

“How are you settling in?” Sarah interrupted, her voice bright.

Dean sat down in one of the spare seats, and opened his mouth to reply, but Castiel answered for him. 

“The neighbourhood seems very pleasant.” Castiel nodded seriously. “And I find that I like the apartment very much. So much natural light.” 

“Oh yes,” Judith enthused, returning with the opened bottle of wine. “Such large windows. You are lucky having the corner apartment.” She shared a glance with Sarah that was difficult to miss. 

Dean opened his mouth again to ask a question, but was completely distracted by Cas putting his hand over his thigh and squeezing gently. He made a slight sound and stiffened. 

“Are you alright?” Chris asked curiously. 

Dean cleared his throat, covered Castiel’s hand with his and nodded. “Just fine. Just … fine.” He squeezed. “A little sciatica.” He beamed a smile. “You know how it is.”

“Don’t I ever.” Chris sympathised. “I have been a carpenter for twenty years. The body just can’t do at forty what it could at twenty, am I right?” 

Dean grimaced and nodded. Every time he got thrown against a wall, he tended to find it a whole lot harder getting up the next day. 

“So what do you do, Dean?” Roy asked abruptly.

“I’m a mechanic. Restoring vintage cars, primarily,” Dean answered smoothly. 

“Yeah? What do you drive?” Roy’s interest was piqued. 

“’67 Impala.”

“His pride and joy. I think he loves the car more than me,” Castiel said drily. 

“You are a close second, babe, I promise.” Dean grinned at Cas. 

There was laughter around the room. 

“So how about you, Charlie?” Sarah leaned forward, as Judith excused herself to serve up the meal. “What fills your days?” 

“Research primarily.” 

“Oh.” Sarah looked a little confused. “Research with what?” 

“He’s writing a paper on supernatural phenomena in residences built pre-1950. Did I get that right?” Dean explained and looked at Castiel.

Castiel nodded slowly. “Which is what drew us here in the first place. This place was constructed in 1929, correct?” 

“Yes. Yes it was.” Sarah nodded eagerly. “How interesting. And of course we are haunted but -“ 

“Sarah.” Chris snapped, a little harshly. 

She withdrew, her gaze dropping to the table. 

“Go on.” Castiel encouraged gently. “I am intrigued to hear your observation.” 

“No. It’s … it’s alright. I was mistaken.” 

Dean smiled widely. “Of course. Not to worry. There are so many buildings in this town, I’m sure Charlie will have no problems burying himself in paperwork and history.” 

 

The rest of the meal went reasonably well. Roy spoke of cars. Judith grilled Castiel on how he and ‘Bryce’ met. Castiel spun a tale that involved Dean getting lost on the backroads of a small town where Castiel was doing some research. Castiel gave him the right directions back to the main road. 

“How sweet.” Judith sighed dreamily, her cheeks a little pink from the wine. “And how long have you been married?” 

“A year now.” Castiel fidgeted with the still shiny ring on his left hand. 

“How lovely. And Bryce is happy to just follow you around with your research?” 

“Oh, it’s not all year. He often picks up old vehicles and arranges for them to be returned to his garage. And once we are done here, we will return home and I will consolidate all of my research into the paper,” Castiel lied smoothly. 

Dean half listened and had to remind himself that it was all a lie. That it wasn’t their life. 

 

“I believe that we might need to speak with Sarah. She seems to know more about the haunting.” Castiel tugged at his tie, loosening the knot. “Would you like tea?” 

Dean was shrugging out of the jacket he had worn over his white FBI button down. He carefully draped it over the back of a dining chair. At Castiel’s question, he glanced up, his face screwed up in an expression of dislike. “Tea? Really?” 

“It’s good for you.” 

“When did we get tea?”

“I used my credit card.”

“To get… tea?” Dean scowled dubiously. 

“Yes. You could afford to look after yourself a little better. Which is why I purchased oatmeal for breakfast in the morning.” 

Dean found the hitch of a whine enter his voice and he couldn’t prevent it. “Cas, I don’t fricking like oatmeal. It tastes like paste.” 

“How do you know what paste tastes like?” Castiel took down two cups from the cupboard and hit the button on the kettle after filling it. 

“I … “ Dean tugged his blue tie loose and unbuttoned the throat. He wandered toward the kitchen. “Shut up.” 

“Hardly. I want you around for a very long time, Dean Winchester.” The kettle gurgled hollowly. “And if it means putting up with your bitching about tea and oatmeal and salad, it will be worth it.” 

Dean leaned on the half wall that separated the tiny kitchen from the dining area. “You want me around, huh? Can just imagine that. If I survive the hunting, I get old, white haired and wrinkled. Not sure that sounds appealing.” 

Castiel moved lithely around the small space, and Dean was startled when suddenly he was standing far too close. Castiel had a hold of his tie and prevented his retreat. The intense blue eyes were suddenly very serious upon his own.

“Understand me when I say, Dean Winchester, that I will take it extremely personally if you refuse to drink my tea out of some misguided machismo.” 

Dean bit the edge of his lower lip and his eyes sparkled with sudden amusement. “You are cute when you are bossy.” 

Castiel circled his fist, pulling Dean inexorably closer. He stopped when their lips were a mere few centimetres apart. “I have a vested interest in you, Dean. To quote you, you matter. To me.” 

Dean, unresisting thus far, met Castiel’s gaze with steady equanimity. After a beat, he dropped a glance down to Castiel’s lips, then back up. His own lips parted with a slow hiss of breath. 

The kettle beeped as it switched off. 

Castiel released Dean’s tie and stepped back. 

He dropped tea bags into each cup, and poured water in. The scent of herbal tea was rich. After a minute, ignoring Dean, he pulled each tea bag from the cup. He picked up both, and approaching Dean again, he handed one over. Dean took it. 

Wordlessly, Castiel headed for the couch. 

“What is this?” Dean broke the silence, asking hesitantly. 

“Ginger and licorice.” 

“It smells…”

“Dean…” Castiel murmured warningly. 

Dean headed for the couch and sat down, propping the cup on his knee. A silence descended, not in the least comfortable. Dean tapped his forefinger on the edge of the cup, not yet willing to sip. 

“Tomorrow, you have a chat to Sarah. I’m going to head to the local cops, see if I can’t get a look at the file about the murder.” Dean lifted the cup to his mouth and took a sip. A spicy, rich flavour flooded his tongue. He frowned. Studied the innocuous brown fluid. He took another taste. It really wasn’t that bad. 

“Very well.” Castiel agreed. He set aside his cup. He clasped his hands together, then turned his head to look at Dean. “One more day then?” 

“Yeah. If nothing happens tonight, or we don’t turn over anything tomorrow, we call it a bust and head back to our old lives.”

Castiel glanced at the clock. Nearly eleven. “I’m going to go to bed then.” He stood. 

Dean hurriedly set down his cup. “Sure. Yeah.” He rose to his feet and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m just going to have a shower before I catch some rack time.”

 

When Dean got out of the shower, Castiel was in bed, once again only the messy strands of his hair visible. 

Dean crept into his side of the bed. 

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He could feel Cas breathing. He could sense his warmth. He wanted so badly to touch him, have that connection, have that warmth flowing through him. 

But he kept his hands linked tightly behind his head. 

It was a long time before he slept. 

And dreamed. 

 

He whimpered in his sleep. His back arched against the memory of the pain. The hooks that sank into his skin and muscle, taking his weight on the clanking, foul chains. 

The red. The heat. The pain. 

“Cas…” he gasped hoarsely. 

The reply was in a language that had a familiar cadence but was foreign to him. 

“Cas … I need you.” 

_“I’m right here, Dean. I have you. Just hold on.”_

Warmth enveloped him. Not darkness, not burning. Just warmth.

“Cas?” 

_“I’m here. Open your eyes, Dean. I’m right here.”_

Dean jerked awake and found himself enfolded in Castiel’s arms, leaning back against a strong chest. He felt the press of lips upon his brow and the rumble of Castiel’s voice in his ear. 

“I’m here. Just hold on.” 

Dean went limp with relief. He wasn’t back there. He wasn’t in agony. He wasn’t left without hope. His head tilted back while he tried to steady his breathing, slow his heart. He felt fingertips brush his brow, a soothing gesture and he realised his pillow was Castiel’s shoulder. 

“That was no mere nightmare, Dean,” Castiel rumbled softly, his voice a vibration in his chest. 

“No.” Dean raised a hand and pressed the heel of it to his temple. “No. It was a memory.” 

“Such pain. I wish I could take some of the burden.” 

“No,” Dean said sharply. “No. This is mine to bear.” 

“So stubborn.” There was the faintest note of amusement in Castiel’s voice. “It is one of your more endearing, and frustrating, qualities.” 

Dean shifted, and Castiel’s arms loosened. The shards of the nightmare were fading, and in the semi-darkness of the bedroom, there was a quiet intensity. 

“Thank you, Cas.” 

“You were having a nightmare, Dean. It was no hardship to help.”

“No.” Dean wriggled around until he knelt on the mattress, staring down into Castiel’s confused face. “For getting me out of there. For everything. For just being…here.”He took a moment to take in the picture Cas made, leaning back against the headboard, his hair sleep ruffled, his intense blue eyes still slumberous, the incredible curve of his lips. “Thank you.” 

“You are welcome.” Castiel smiled. And it was like coming home. 

Dean reached out and trailed his knuckles over Castiel’s jaw, before he could change his mind. Castiel went suddenly very still, his breath washing over Dean’s wrist and his smile faded. 

“Is this … okay?” Dean asked softly, hesitating.

“I have no issue with you touching me.” Castiel’s gaze flared with sudden heat.

Dean traced his thumb over Castiel’s lower lip. “I want to kiss you, Cas.” 

“I have no issue with that, either.” 

Dean leaned down, pressing his unoccupied hand to the pillow beside Castiel, his other hand curving over Cas’ cheek. He paused a few millimetres away. 

“Are you sure?” 

Castiel made a sound that was almost a growl. His hand came up, fisting in the soft cotton of Dean’s t-shirt and pulled him the rest of the way forward. 

Their lips crushed together, awkwardly at first, then with more practiced ease. Dean watched the desire flare in Castiel’s eyes, before they were shuttered to him as Cas closed them, sinking into the kiss. 

Dean’s own eyes drifting closed as he surrendered to taste and touch. Toothpaste, Cas, soap, Cas, sandpapery jaw, more Cas, a slide of his tongue, nip of teeth. 

 

Then with sudden, agonising pain he was wrenched backward. He slammed into the wall and the last thing he saw as his eyes flew open was the snarling visage of a spirit as it came at him again, its chilled, bony fingers somehow choking him. 

Things were starting to go black.

“Cas … “ he gasped. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning about this chapter. I had an original idea about who the ghost was, but decided to change it. 
> 
> Warning - homophobia related violence in this chapter. Related to the era. (It will make sense. I hope.) 
> 
> Don't hate me.

_“Dean. Open your eyes. Come on.”_

The voice was persistent. Nagging. 

Dean groaned. “This is getting really old.” 

“Dean?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine, Cas,” he rasped and peeled up an eyelid. Castiel’s blurry face swam into focus. The concern etched on his features had Dean attempting to sit up. He immediately lay back down, dizzy and sick. “Always thought your kiss could sweep me off my feet.”

“This is not funny, Dean,” Castiel’s irritation only made him grin. 

“What happened?” Dean pressed thumb and forefinger into his eye sockets until he saw flashing lights. 

“The spirit attacked you.”

“Yep. Got that bit good and proper.” He tried to sit up again, squinting against the pain of his pounding head. “What then?”

“Iron bar.” Castiel waved the crowbar Dean had set beside the bed. 

“Good. Right.” He reached up. “Help me up.” 

Castiel gripped his hand and pulled. Dean groaned, and used Castiel’s shoulder to steady himself. 

“You look terrible,” Castiel said flatly. 

“Uh huh. How long was I out?” 

“Ten minutes. You frightened me.”

Dean’s eyes crinkled as he squinted around the room. “How did that bastard get through the salt lines? And why now? Why…then?” He gestured at the bed.

“A question for research in the morning.” Castiel brushed his fingers against Dean’s throat. “Come on. You need ice.” He took Dean’s hand and pulled him toward the door. 

Dean stepped over the salt boundary and scowled at its glistening ineffectiveness. 

 

Dean hissed as Cas pressed the ice pack wrapped in a tea towel against his throat as he sat at the tiny kitchen table. He tugged his laptop toward him and powered it up. Fumbling with the icepack was a pain, so he tied it off with the pale blue cloth of the towel. 

Castiel busied himself making tea. 

As Dean typed rapidly, Castiel sat beside him, sliding a cup of tea across. Dean squinted at the screen, muttering a quiet ‘thanks’. 

“Okay. So yeah, place was a private home until thirty years ago when it got converted to apartments. Fantastic.” Dean drove his fingers through his hair. “That should narrow it down. Who knows how many damn people came through these rooms?”

“The ghost was dressed in clothing reminiscent of the 1940s.” 

Dean glanced at Cas. “Huh.” He resumed his tapping and leaned back in his chair. “1940’s. Got a name here. The Easterling family. Rich as. Local landed gentry. Settled in the area before the Civil War, built this place in ’29. Last of the family kicked it in the ’50’s and place was sold off by the bank.” 

“The ghost appeared to be male.”

“Maybe Sarah knows something more of the history here.” Dean lifted the tea cup and took a sip. He grimaced. “Ack. What is this?” 

“Honey and lemon tea. Soothes your throat. I will speak with Sarah in a few hours. Will you still go to the local police?”

“Yeah. I wanna see the history here. See if it’s a pattern. Who the folks were who had this apartment. They can’t all have died. Can you get an idea about who lived here? I want to see if we can figure out why the ghost chose tonight to attack and why so nasty. Seems a zero to ninety response to me.” Dean yanked off his icepack and tossed it on the table. “I want to gank this bastard.” 

“Perhaps it responded when we kissed. It may have been a coincidence, however, it seems unlikely.” 

“Why should a ghost give a damn whether we lock lips?” Dean scowled. 

“Perhaps we will find out more later.” Castiel stood. “I’m going to do a sweep of the apartment again.” He rested his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I will be back.” 

Dean covered Castiel’s hand with his. “Thanks for saving my ass, Cas.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

 

 

They met up again at lunch time. 

When Chris had headed off for work, Castiel went down the hall to their apartment and knocked on the door. Dean watched him charm his way in and tucking an FBI badge into his pocket, he headed out for his own mission. 

He headed into the apartment and tossed his keys to the Impala on the table. 

“Heya Cas.” 

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel slid the plate containing a large sandwich in front of Dean. 

Dean studied the colourful contents. “There is a lot of greenery in this,” he complained. 

“We have had this discussion.” Castiel set his own plate, sans bread, just piled high with chicken and salad at his place. 

Dean picked up one half the sandwich and bit off a chunk. He chewed. Paused. Chewed again. He swallowed. He studied the contents again. “What is this?” 

“Chicken salad sandwich,” Castiel said smoothly. 

Dean’s eyebrow quirked. “It’s good.” 

“Sarah pointed me toward an excellent farmer’s market. Apparently the difference is quality ingredients.” 

“Check you out.” Dean grinned. “Settling in all domestic.” 

“Sarah had some interesting things to say. I assume you wish to hear about it, rather than whine about your lunch?” 

“Aren’t we just full of sass today?” Dean took another huge bite of his sandwich. 

“I was woken up early.” Castiel studied his plate, selecting a bright chunk of tomato. “It makes me a bit edgy.” 

“Got it. So… Sarah?” 

“Yes.” Castiel’s expression grew troubled and he set down his cutlery. “Sarah said the previous tenants kept to themselves for the most part. She only met them a couple of times. They lived here for two weeks before their deaths. Prior to that, she only heard rumours of a previous attack some five years ago. What happened with the cops?”

Dean took out his phone. He opened a note and skimmed the notes he had taken. “Four months ago victims Simon Moore and Thomas Ronan. Both discovered strangled by Simon’s employer, Marco Hunter. No evidence to suggest the place was broken into. No forensics. No suspects. Headed right down cold case city.”

“Maybe a discussion with Mr Hunter?” 

“That’s what I was thinking.” Dean nodded, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Can you get a list of previous occupants of this place? Before Simon and Thomas?”

Castiel nodded. “I think so. Yes.”

“Good. Then we can cross reference those with any reports of ghostly activity. I should get going. See you later.” Dean stood. He leaned over and kissed Castiel briefly on the mouth. He stilled. Blinked. “Sorry. Cas. Damn…” 

Castiel seemed surprised also, but pleasantly so. He smiled. “You kissed me.” 

“Noticed that, huh?” Dean straightened, a flush colouring his cheek.

Castiel stood also, picked up his plate and Dean’s. “It was perfectly pleasant, and I am amenable to such gestures.” 

“Amenable …” Dean’s lips curved. “You are incredible, Cas. Seriously.” 

“You too. Call me if you need anything.” Castiel set the dishes in the sink. 

“You too.” Dean snagged his keys and headed out again.  

 

“Hi. I’m Special Agent Fogerty.” Dean flipped open his ID. “I’m investigating the death of a prior employee of yours, Simon Moore.” 

The slender Korean man studied Dean with a thoughtful gaze. “Hmm, yes, Special Agent. How can I help?” 

“He worked for you for what? Two? Three weeks? About four months ago?” 

“Yes. What’s this about?” Impeccably dressed, the man was sorting through a series of drawings.  

“I’m trying to get a feel for him. Trying to track his movements in the weeks before his death. What kind of work did he do?” 

“He was an incredibly gifted designer.”

“I’m sorry?” Dean stared around him. 

“We are an interior design firm. I poached him from a firm in Seattle. He wanted a sea change with his boyfriend.” 

“Boyfriend?” Dean’s alarm bells dinged.

“Thomas. He was a writer. It was incredibly sad what happened to them. I assumed it was a hate crime of some sort. Some of the people in town aren’t the most tolerant. Maybe some of the redder necks saw Simon and Tommy holding hands or something.” 

“Thanks.” Dean held out his hand. Marco shook it. “That helps.” 

“Good luck, Agent.” 

 

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. He had to go back to the library. This was making his brain hurt. This was meant to be Sammy’s job. He flicked Cas a message.

**Heading back to the library. Have a lead. Need to hit the books again.**

A few moments later, Cas replied. 

**Got the list of tenants. I will use your laptop to see if there was any prior attacks.**

**Good luck. Let me know.**

**You too :D**

Dean smiled at the emoticon. Then sighed as he stared up at the building edifice. He approached the librarian on duty. 

“Hi, uhh, Loraine?” He glanced at the woman’s name badge. 

“Yes?” She glanced up at him, from where she was rapidly typing on a computer. She blinked. “Oh. Mister Wayne, isn’t it? You were in here yesterday?” 

“Yeah. I got a name, a family name, to research. Easterling. Old family. Pre-civil war era. Could I see what you have in the archives from 1925 to 1950?” 

Loraine scowled and peered at her screen. She typed rapidly for a moment, then flicked the mouse down. “Ahh, here we are. Yes. I will be right back. If you want to use one of the desks over in the research area, I will bring it out to you.” 

“Thanks, Loraine. I really appreciate your help.” 

“Just doing my job, Mister Wayne.” 

 

Dean asked Loraine for a notepad and pen a few minutes later, citing a headache and peering at the screen was doing nothing for it. He wasn’t lying. 

He scribbled page after page of notes. 

And what he discovered made his blood run cold. 

He needed to talk to Cas. 

Fast. 

He packed up everything and handed it over to Loraine with a smile. 

Out on the street, he dialled Castiel’s number. 

“Cas? Are you at the apartment?” 

_“Yes.”_

“I’m heading your way.” 

 

Dean paced the living room. 

“Norman Easterling killed his son, Quentin, in 1942. The kid was eighteen and joined up to go fight Nazis. Before he shipped out, Daddy caught son making out with the gardener. The very male gardener. Daddy beat son to hell and back and son never woke up.” He dragged his hand through his hair. “The fortunes of the family collapsed in the next eight years until Daddy died in 1948.”

“And now Norman Easterling continues his haunting…thinking certain tenants are his son.” Castiel leaned back in his chair and contemplatively ran his thumb over his lower lip. “It is backed up by my research. There have been eight attacks over the years. Each time, it has been when the apartment has been occupied by men sharing a certain close relationship.” 

“Homophobic bullshit from beyond the grave.” Dean slouched into a chair. “And we are next.” He sighed. “I guess I dragged you into this one, Cas.” 

“I am here quite willingly,” Castiel said drily. “But if we do the standard salt and burn of his bones, I believe I will feel a little better about sleeping tonight.” 

“That’s the problem, Cas.” Dean sighed and dropped the last piece of good news. “He was cremated. So somewhere in this bloody apartment, is something of Easterling’s that his spirit is attached to.” 

“Oh.” Castiel leaned forward, his knees resting on his thighs. “That could be problematic.” 

“Yep.” Dean grimaced. “Guess we have a real search to do.”

“At least we know where it is located?” Castiel gazed at him with steady blue eyes. 

Dean tilted his head in tired confusion. “Huh?” 

“Bedroom. He was already inside the salt circle around the room when he appeared. That’s why he could attack you. So whatever it is - is in there.” 

Dean leaned forward, gripped Castiel behind his neck and kissed him fiercely. “Yes. Yes, that’s it.” He leapt up, yanked off his coat and tossed it on the chair. He held out his hand to Cas. 

Castiel gripped it and came to his feet. “I suppose we should get to work.” 

 

An hour later, they sat on the bed and sighed. They had upturned everything. 

“I have no idea.” Dean rubbed his brow. “No secret drawers. No hidden spaces.” 

Castiel wiped his hands on his thighs. “I’m sorry, Dean. I thought it was here.” 

Dean leaned back and slumped on their unmade bed. He stared up at the ceiling and took a slow breath. He was tired. He wanted sleep. He blinked. And frowned. 

He tilted his head and sat up. 

Castiel noted his distraction. “What’s wrong?” 

“I think… hang on.” Dean scrambled up on the bed, and perched on the solid wooden headboard. He reached out, his fingertips brushing a metal vent cover painted the same shade of pale cream as the rest of the ceiling. He leaned out again, and got his fingertips near the edge. 

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice suddenly sounded urgent. 

“I wonder if there is something …” Dean leaned out again. He suddenly lost his footing, and was knocked to the ground. Pain exploded in his shoulder. He peered up to see Castiel, wild eyed, gripping a crowbar like a baseball bat. “What the hell?” 

“He’s in here. He just slammed into you, but I dissolved him before he could grab hold.” Castiel stared around the room, standing in front of Dean as he scrambled up. 

“Quick. I need the crowbar.” 

Castiel handed it over, and grabbed the shotgun where it leaned up against the bedside table. Dean yanked the dresser into place underneath the vent and clambered up. 

The shotgun exploded behind him. 

“Hurry up, Dean,” Castiel said, an edge to his voice.

“Hurrying. Keep him off me.” Dean jammed the crowbar into the edge of the vent and yanked down. 

He heard a cry and grunt from Castiel as he was knocked sprawling. But he couldn’t worry about it. He needed that damn ….whatever the hell it was keeping the old guy here. 

The vent clattered to the ground. Dean risked a glance around and saw Castiel supporting himself on the doorframe of the bathroom, blood streaming from a head wound. 

“Where is he?” Dean asked, urgently. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely appreciate those who took the time to write me a review. It really is the lifeblood for fanfic writers! It helps just to know our work is appreciated. 
> 
> Don't forget to drop an author your love when you enjoy their story. 
> 
> It really does mean the world to us. :)

 

Castiel hefted the shotgun, ready and waiting. “I have this. Just find it.” 

Dean reached up into the roof space and fumbled around. There was nothing… wait. His fingers brushed something… 

He heard the grunt, and saw Castiel dangling a foot off the ground, being held up by the ghost with his spidery fingers around his throat. The gun rested on the ground. Dean hesitated. 

No. 

It had to be up there. 

He stretched again and got his fingertips to what felt like a book of some kind. He pinched the end of it between thumb and forefinger, tugging it toward him. Careful. Careful. 

Then it was in his hands. 

It was a journal. 

He opened it and shook the pages. 

A lock of hair fell out. 

Dean fumbled for his lighter. Grabbing up the hair, he flicked the lighter. 

The ghost turned to look at him, its mouth open in a rictus of pain and anger. The hair briefly scorched his fingers before he dropped it onto the top of the dresser. The ghost howled, and charged him. He hefted the crowbar, ready for the impact. 

The ghost blew through him. 

The sight of Castiel collapsed on the floor had him jumping down from his lofty perch. 

“Cas?” 

“Ow.” Castiel grumbled, sitting up with a wince. The cut on his brow was small, but like all such cuts, bled like hell. 

Dean knelt beside him and enfolded him in his arms. “Jesus. Cas.” 

“I’m fine,” Castiel said, his voice muffled against Dean’s shoulder. “What was the focus?’ 

“Hair. Lock of hair.” 

Castiel leaned back. “Easterling kept a lock of his own hair?” 

Dean studied the cut a little closer, relief etching his features as he saw it wasn’t so bad. “I guess,” he muttered.

“What was it in?”

“A journal of some sort.” 

Castiel accepted Dean’s help to stand. 

A loud knocking on the door echoed through the apartment. 

Dean sighed. “Damn it. Wait here. I will get rid of them.” He leaned in, kissed Castiel on the mouth, before heading for the door of the bedroom. 

 

_“Hi, Sarah. Chris.”_

Castiel pressed his thumb into the throbbing pain just over his right eyebrow. He could hear Dean’s voice at the front door. 

_“Yeah, I’m so sorry. We were shifting furniture and my hands slipped. The whole damn thing crashed on the floor.”_

_“Are you sure? It sounded so like a gun shot.”_

Dean laughed, and only Castiel could tell it was awkward. “ _Hell no. Just clumsy me.”_

Castiel squinted and made his way down the hallway, his brain scrambling to catch up. 

He pitched his voice deliberately shaky. “Dean?” He rounded the corner and faced their concerned guests.

“Oh my god. Charlie!” Sarah gasped. “Are you okay?” 

“Cas. What the hell!” Dean protested. In two swift strides, he wrapped his arm around Castiel’s waist. “I told you to stay put.” 

Sarah shot Dean a dark, wary look. “What happened to him? No furniture dropped on his face, damn it.” 

“Hey, whoa! I didn’t do anything.” Dean pressed Castiel into a seat. 

“It was the ghost.” Castiel said flatly. He raised a hand to his brow, drew back his fingers coated in his blood and stared at them with wide eyed wonder. 

“Ghost?” Sarah whimpered. 

“Taken care of,” Dean said flatly, moving swiftly to the kitchen and back with a tea towel. He pressed it to Castiel’s wound.

“This is ridiculous,” Chris scoffed. “There is no such thing as ghosts.” 

“Shut up, Christopher,” Sarah cried, tears dampening her eyes. “You know it’s real. You know…” 

Christopher gripped Sarah around the upper arm. His teeth were gritted. “Sarah…” 

“I’m sorry. I should have told you,” Sarah cried. “I should have warned you.” 

Dean straightened and stalked toward the couple, hands clenched. “Let go of her, Chris.” 

Christopher’s florid complexion heightened. His fingernails bit into Sarah’s skin. “You assholes were meant to…meant to…” He stared at Dean and Castiel, his eyes wide. 

“Meant to die, you dick?” Dean fisted his hand in Christopher’s t-shirt. He rammed him back against the doorframe. “Meant to be torn apart by that asshole ghost.” He looked across at Sarah. “Nice guy you got here.” 

Sarah wept and yanked her arm away from her husband. 

“What is your problem, you asshole?” Dean snarled. 

“It’s against the teachings of the Bible. It’s unnatural. You will go to Hell,” Christopher rambled, trying to break free from Dean’s grip. 

“Been there, you dick.” Dean drew back his fist as though he would plow it straight into Christopher’sface. 

He was stopped by Castiel. A gentle hand on his forearm. “Dean…” Castiel said quietly. He addressed Christopher directly. “You are quite wrong, you know. My father doesn’t care about gender or sexuality.”

“Your father …what?” Christopher was clearly confused. “What the hell are you talking about? And who is Dean? Aren’t you Bryce?” 

“Let him go, Dean.” Castiel slid his hand down to curve around Dean’s hand. Dean relaxed, lowering. “His ignorance is irritating, but it is not worth your time.” 

Sarah wiped her eyes with her hand. “He knew about the ghost. And he would approve the applications. He approved Tommy’s application with Simon.”

Dean just shook his head, and squeezed Castiel’s hand. “Unbelievable.” He turned to Cas. “Are you sure I can’t punch him? Please?” 

Christopher flinched. 

“No.” Castiel looked at Sarah, his eyes intent. “Did anyone else know about this?” 

“No.” Sarah shook her head. “No. Just us. We knew it was haunted. We all do. But ..but…” Her lower lip trembled again. 

Castiel leaned forward, his voice gentle. “Understand me when I say that if we are not happy with your future behaviour we will be back.” He glanced at Christopher, then back again. “Dean and I will leave in the morning. The ghost here has been destroyed. We don’t want to hear either of your names again. Ever. If we do, you will find out what our real job is.” He smiled faintly. 

Sarah grabbed Christopher’s arm, and pulled at it. “Chris. Let’s go.” Her chin was wobbling, her eyes wide and fearful. 

Dean closed the door on them and locked it. 

He turned to Cas. 

“That was pretty hot,” he said, and reached up to touch Castiel lightly on the brow. “And this needs looking at. Come on.” 

 

Later, as Castiel got clean, the cut on his brow glued, Dean sat on the couch staring at the television. It was on but he couldn’t have said what the program was. He was thinking of the man in the shower. 

He rested his jaw on the back of his hand. What now? They were going home tomorrow. They were going back to their real life. The hunt aside, this was just an interlude where he had been given the chance to show Cas just a small amount of what he felt for him. Right? 

 “Do you want a cup of tea, Dean?” Castiel’s voice startled him from his reverie. “Peppermint?” 

“Huh?” Dean jerked around, and watched Cas head for the kitchen, his dark hair damp from the shower, the white dressing on his brow stark against his tanned skin. He wore loose cotton pants and a tight white shirt. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.” His mouth was watering. Damn he was glad Cas could no longer read his mind. 

Castiel returned to the couch with two cups of tea in hand. He handed one across to Dean, who took it carefully. Cas sank down onto the cushions, slouching down.

“What is on the television?” Cas asked.

“Uhh…” Dean whipped his gaze to the TV and studied the screen. With relief he recognised it. “A Knight’s Tale.” 

“Hmmm.” 

With an ease that stunned Dean, Castiel leaned up against him. Dean automatically wrapped his arm around Castiel’s shoulder and drew him in. “I have seen the young man playing the knight before.” 

“Yeah, he was in Dark Knight. The Batman movie.” 

“No.” Castiel leaned his head back on Dean’s shoulder. “That wasn’t what I meant.” 

“Maybe it was The Brother’s Grimm.” 

“Shh, Dean.” Castiel laid his arm along Dean’s thigh, curling his fingers over Dean’s knee. “Let’s just watch this ridiculous movie. So many inaccuracies…”

Dean swallowed hard. “Sure. Yeah.” 

 

Dean didn’t know when he had fallen asleep, but when he woke, a different movie was playing. A heavy weight pressed against his chest. Cas. They had shifted a little. Dean was now sprawled back, one leg up on the couch. Cas was seated in between his thighs and leaned back on his chest, fast asleep if his even, low breathing was any indication. Dean’s arms held him secure, safe. He didn’t want to move. Didn’t want to wake Cas. But damn it, his back was killing him. 

“Hey, babe?” Dean murmured low, his lips pressed to the scalp beneath the soft, tufted hair that stood rampant, tickling his face.

“Mrf,” Castiel grumbled. 

“I know you wanna sleep, but you gotta wake up.” 

Castiel shifted and peered up at him with a slumberous expression. Dean couldn’t help himself. He leaned in and kissed Cas, slow and sensual, exploring the texture of his lips, the softness, the strength. Castiel made a low sound in his throat, and deepened the kiss. 

Dean smoothed his hands down Castiel’s sides, then slipped up under the hem of his shirt, exploring the ridges of his ribcage and tension in his belly. Cas broke the kiss, but didn’t pull back far. 

“I would very much like it if you would make love to me, Dean.” His eyes were intense, lips a little kiss swollen. “Please.” 

“Cas…” Dean’s hands stilled. “We just had a near death experience.” He hesitated, wincing at his terrible pun. “So to speak. Wanting sex afterwards…is natural. And you _are_ human now…” 

“Dean. Shut up.” Castiel scowled impatiently. 

“Hey,” Dean protested, withdrawing his hands.

“While adrenalin can be responsible for the drive for sexual intercourse, this is not the case in this current situation.” Castiel caught one of his hands and threaded their fingers together. “I’m in love with you, Dean. As an angel, I didn’t understand what that meant. Not really. But now, in a human body, it makes sense. All of it makes sense. I love you, right through to your incredible, shining, soul.” 

Dean felt the blush travel up his chest, making his face burn brightly. “Cas. I…” 

“I am not asking for anything more than tonight, Dean. But if it isn’t something you want, I will be disappointed but not upset.” 

“Cas. I want it. I want you.” Dean raised a hand and pressed it against Castiel’s chest. “God, do I want you. But I want to do this right. Not just wriggling around on the couch.” 

The look in Castiel’s eyes made him want to squirm. His angel wanted him. Well, the feeling was mutual. With a sudden move he lunged up, wrapped his arms around Castiel and hauled him close, his thigh’s bracketing Castiel’s. 

“The bed…” Castiel whispered hoarsely against mouth. 

“Yeah. Sorry.” Dean lurched to his feet, dragging Castiel with him. 

 

Dean stripped his shirt on the way there, and stepped out of his pants. He paused, a moment of clarity freezing his brain. 

“Cas, damn it. I don’t have …anything. Protection.” 

“I have a credit card, Dean.” Castiel was folding his t-shirt and put it on the top of the set of drawers. He tugged open the nearest drawer and withdrew condoms and a bottle of Astroglide. “These are acceptable, I assume.” 

Dean opened his mouth, closed his mouth, then grinned. “You are a regular Boy Scout, Cas.” 

“No. I wasn’t. Nor was Jimmy.” Castiel tilted his head in confusion. 

“It’s a …” Dean held up both hands. “…Nevermind.” He propped his hands on his hips and studied Castiel. “You are beautiful.” His voice was soft with wonderment. 

“As are you. But then I have always thought so.” Castiel approached, and reached out to trail his fingers over Dean’s skin. 

He shivered and raised his hands to skim over Castiel’s sides, and around to the base of his spine. He traced up the ridges and leaned in to press a series of kisses against Castiel’s jaw, then down his throat. Castiel clutched at Dean’s shoulder, tilting his head. 

Dean nipped the corner of his neck and shoulder, and Cas made a small sound. 

“Good?” Dean asked, softly.

“Yes.” Castiel’s voice was raspy with want. 

“Come on. I want you to feel more.” Dean pulled him toward the bed and they sank down onto the soft mattress. 

On their sides, they lay chest to chest, groin to groin, and their lips met. Dean splayed his hand over Castiel’s hip and pressed him close. His thigh slid in between Castiel’s and he drew Castiel’s leg up. He traced his fingertips lightly over Castiel’s skin, up to the base of his spine, down over his ass, then down the sleek thigh and up again. 

With a groan, Castiel rolled his groin against Dean, seeking friction. 

“Dean…” 

“I got you.” Dean slanted his lips across Castiel’s and licked lower lip. Castiel’s tongue tentatively touched his, then grew in boldness. Dean fumbled for the Astroglide bottle and broke the kiss long enough to crack open the top. Castiel muttered a protest. 

“Hang on.” Dean squeezed some of the slick fluid onto his fingers. He met Castiel’s gaze. “Are you sure? We don’t have to go too far.” 

“You won’t hurt me,” Castiel said. 

“You are incredible.” Dean’s kiss was fierce. 

 

When he slid into Castiel, the heat nearly sent him over the edge. He closed his eyes, gasping, trying to wrangle some semblance of control. When he opened his eyes, he could see Castiel had his eyes squeezed shut, and a death grip on the sheets. 

“Cas. God. Are you alright?” Dean readied to withdrew. “I hurt you.” 

Blue eyes instantly clashed with green. 

“No!” Came Castiel’s protest as his hand clutched at Dean’s arm. “Don’t move.” He frowned. “I’m not hurt. I’m not… it’s…” He moved experimentally and moaned. “Dean…” His thighs tightened on Dean’s hips. 

With excruciatingly slow movements, Dean thrust inside Cas. He couldn’t hold back the whimper that tumbled from his lips. For many long minutes, they rocked together, Castiel’s hard length pressed between them. 

“Dean..” Castiel’s gravelled voice was reedy, thin. “I need…more.” 

“Hang…on…babe….” Dean gasped, taking his weight on one hand, and leaning back a little, he wrapped his hand around Castiel’s cock and stroked in time with his thrusts.  

Castiel writhed, splayed out one hand clutching Dean’s arm, and the other fisted in the sheets, twisting them in one strong hand. His head was thrown back, eyes shut, breath coming in gasps. He was completely undone and it was the most amazing sight Dean had ever seen. 

No. 

He was wrong. 

Watching Cas come, listening to his cry, the tautness of his entire body. Dean leaned down and caught the cry on his tongue. He thrust once, twice and three times before he reached his own release. He collapsed against Cas, and winced as he slipped out. 

“Dean…” Castiel kissed the side of his neck. “You are really heavy.” 

“Sorry. I think I lost all feeling in …everywhere.” 

“What?” The note of panic in Castiel’s voice had Dean shifting with a groan, and rolling onto his back. 

“I’m fine, Cas.” He couldn’t help smiling, and then chuckled. “Damn. That was …unbelievable.” 

“I was…okay?” There was a note of uncertainty in Castiel’s voice that had Dean looking over at him. 

“Cas.” Dean reached out for him, and ignoring the mess they had made, gathered him close. He wrapped his arms around his angel and pressed a kiss against an unbruised segment of brow. “You were beyond that. You were everything.” 

“I assume that is good?” 

“It is.” Dean sighed. “We should clean up.” 

“Yes. This making love is …sticky.” 

Dean rumbled a laugh. “That it is. The best kind.” 

“Yes. I agree.” 

 

Dean awoke in the morning wrapped in Castiel’s arms, back to strong chest. He could feel the wash of Castiel’s breath on the back of his neck, the warmth his body generated, the heavy weight of his arms in sleep. And he didn’t want to lose it. Not now he had found it. 

He shifted, and Castiel’s arms tightened as though in protest at his waking. He stilled. No. He didn’t want this to end. 

 

“Heya, Sammy. Yeah, we are on our way home. Ghost is ganked.” 

He watched Castiel converse with the store manager as he paid for their lunch. 

“Cas? He’s good. Was great, actually. Couldn’t have solved it without him.” 

He listened to Sam. 

“See you in four hours.” 

 

The silence in the car had only grown the nearer they drew to Lawrence. Dean drove, his hands clenched on the wheel. As they hit the outskirts of town, Castiel broke the quiet. 

“What do you want me to do with this?” 

Dean glanced aside to see what Cas was talking about. In his palm, the wedding ring lay gleaming dully. 

“I will take it.” Dean held out his hand and Cas dropped it into his palm. He put it into his pocket. 

“Dean?” 

“Yeah, Cas?” 

“What happens now?” 

Dean’s jaw tensed. “I don’t know.”

“I want us to stay friends.” 

Dean winced. “Sure, Cas. Whatever you say.” 

Castiel nodded in satisfaction. “Then I am happy.” 

“Yeah. Happy. Good.” 

 

Dean pulled the Impala into her spot in the garage. He got out, stretching his legs. 

He heard Castiel get out, and close the door. 

They head into the bunker. 

Sam was in the kitchen, a book propped in front of him, digging a spoon into a bowl of ice-cream. 

“Hey, guys,” he said, barely glancing up. “How did it go?” 

“Great. Ghost is history.” Dean swiped his hands in the air. “Job well done.” 

“Nice.”

“I’m going to get some rest,” Castiel intoned flatly, his shoulders hunched into his trench coat.

“Sure. Yeah.” Dean shoved his hands into his pockets. This was wrong. His gut ached.

Sam glanced between the two, lowering his spoon to the bowl. His eyes narrowed.

“I will return the tie I borrowed. It is still with my gear.” 

“All good. No rush.” 

Castiel moved slowly for the corridor. 

Dean hesitated. 

Castiel glanced at him, his blue eyes filled with a pain that sliced into Dean. 

“Cas.” Dean spoke before his brain could stop him. 

“Yes, Dean?” 

Dean moved swiftly toward Cas, covering the distance in three strides. He bracketed Castiel’s face with his palms and kissed him fiercely. 

“What…” He vaguely heard Sam say. 

He pulled back after a moment. “I don’t want to just be friends, Cas. Tell me that’s not what you want? Please?” 

Castiel stared at him, wide eyed and startled. “Dean? I …” 

“Please?” Dean’s heart was breaking. He couldn’t bear it. 

Castiel raised his hand and pressed it against Dean’s chest, over his heart. “Yes.” 

Dean let out a shaking sigh of relief and dropped his forehead to Castiel’s. “You’re it for me.” He fumbled for Castiel’s hand and clutched it.

“It would seem the reverse is also true,” Castiel said.

“Uhh. Guys?” Sam tried to interject. 

“Sammy?” Dean raised his voice a little. “I don’t wanna be disturbed for the next twelve hours, at least.” 

“Sure. Yeah. Uhh. Rest…well?” 

Dean pulled Cas into the hallway. 

 

Sam sat down at his chair again. 

He grinned. 

Held up his left hand, slapped it with his right. “Self five.” 

 

Dean leaned over the bed and pulled his jeans toward him. He fumbled in the pocket for a moment and levered himself back onto the bed. Castiel was curled up beside him, his eyes at half mast, drifting toward sleep. 

“Cas?” He prodded his angel. 

“Yes, Dean?” 

He held his palm out toward Cas. The ring sat there. Castiel sat up on one elbow and peered at it, then up to Dean’s face. Dean chewed on his lower lip. 

“So it’s like this…” He began awkwardly. “The rings are real.” 

Castiel frowned in curiosity. “Dean?” 

“I didn’t buy them at the junk shop.” He rubbed the back of his neck, flushing bright red. “They are real. I got them the day before we left for the case.”

Castiel plucked the ring off Dean’s hand and studied it. The two toned metal flashed briefly in the light from the bedside table. Castiel squinted and brought it closer to his eyes. A smile played over his lips. 

“You had it engraved,” he said softly. “Dean…” 

“I know. It’s stupid.” Dean tugged the ring he hadn’t removed off his finger and handed it to Cas. 

Both were engraved with the same thing. 

Forever yours. C&D. 

“This isn’t stupid, Dean.” Castiel looked up at Dean, his eyes bright. “This is beautiful. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Dean cast his gaze down and fidgeted with the sheet covering his lap. “I couldn’t. I have wanted you. I have needed you. I have loved you for years.” 

“You love me?” Castiel sat up, kneeling. 

“Well, yeah.” Dean looked up, frowning. “I thought you knew that. I thought…” He gestured vaguely and his shoulder’s slumped. “I guess I kind of kept that one close to the chest.”

He took a deep breath. 

“I love you, Cas.” 

Castiel’s smile was sunshine. “I love you too, Dean.” 

“Would you wear that? Because…” Dean fidgeted again and cleared his throat. “…Because I really am forever yours.” 

“Yes.” Castiel nodded. “As long as you will wear the other.” 

Dean silently held out his hand. 

 

The nightmares still came back once in a while, that didn’t change. But when they did, strong arms and kisses chased them away. 

Dean even let Sam be smug for a few weeks. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
